


Painted on My Heart

by Skyler10



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Asexuality, Bisexuality, Demisexuality, F/M, Fluff, Pansexual Character, Pride, artist rose, scientist Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyler10/pseuds/Skyler10
Summary: Bisexual Rose and ace-spec John head to their local Pride parade together, both with secret feelings for each other.





	Painted on My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> For LLS: paint and Pride  
> London Pride isn’t for a few more weeks, but a lot of Pride celebrations in the US, including my city, are this weekend, so here you go!

John gulped as his gorgeous best friend held up a craft store bag and grinned with her tongue between her teeth. It really wasn’t fair what that smile did to him, especially as that smile had been so rare these past few months.

After a prolonged and painful breakup with her girlfriend in the spring, Rose had spent more and more time with John. He did his best to help her heal, all the while hiding his own feelings. It was all the better, anyway, as John really had no idea how this attraction thing worked. Rose was the only girl—person, really—he had ever found remotely “desirable” for lack of a better term. But his love for her as his best mate outweighed any other feelings. So he devoted each day to making her smile that special smile, all the while telling his lovesick heart to get over her.

Rose seemed to be on the mend, however. For example, it had been her idea to go to their city’s Pride parade. She had arrived at his flat early to paint their faces and don their matching T-shirts: pink, purple, and indigo for her, purple, white, grey, and black for him.  

John shivered at the touch of her paint sponge, but it wasn’t from the chill of the paint against his cheek. Her touch was so soft. How had he never noticed it until recently? Her lips parted in concentration, approaching even this with the professional talent that had won her gallery openings and accolades for her astronomically themed paintings.

That’s how they had met, in fact. John was her go-to astrophysicist when she needed inspiration or research for her work, and they had bonded over late nights in the planetarium. One night, he had brought takeout and wine, but she had reacted with un-Rose-like apprehension. She had been hesitant to tell him after so many bad experiences in the past, but he finally got her to enlighten him: She was already in a relationship. With a woman. She was bisexual, she explained, and it wasn’t that she didn’t find him fit, because she did, but she wasn’t single and felt like he needed to know.

John only smiled and nodded before confessing that he was asexual.

At least, he knew he was somewhere on the ace spectrum. He had an open mind that he might discover someday that he was more grey- or demi- than strictly asexual. What he hadn’t anticipated was that Rose Tyler would be that rare exception. He explained that night that he hadn’t meant anything by the meal. Nor did he have any intent to woo her or endanger her relationship.

His words haunted him now as she painted him under the harsh lighting of his en suite. Her perfume—once a mystery to him—gave him the sense of something forbidden and yet simultaneously home-like.

He hadn’t always felt this way, though. It hadn’t been until after she’d fought with her girlfriend, forgiven her, taken her back, caught her lying, fought again, and broken things off, that John had even really entertained the idea of how he would treat a girlfriend (much better than this ex of Rose’s, that much was sure). Somehow, as wrong as he knew it was, he couldn’t picture anyone but Rose, even in this hypothetical scenario.

The next month, during their third time out to get ice cream in as many weeks, Rose had wiped a bit of chocolate off his cheek—the same cheek she was now painting a rich purple—and laid her hand on top of his. It was as if she had pulled him into a portal to another world. The tracing of her thumb on the back of his hand, the slow flutter of the length of her lashes, the melody of her voice… it ignited his senses into overload.

He had scrambled up then, blabbering on about sun exposure and how he wanted to protect her… protect her from the sun! Yes, the sun. UV rays, very dangerous. She had giggled and taken his hand and let him walk her home.

That was months ago, and yet, he still could hardly process all of the ways he loved her. Everything she did charmed him. Even angry, she was beautiful. Perhaps especially when she was angry. But when she cried—not really missing her ex, but still hurting and missing having _someone_ , she had explained—those times were when he hugged her tight and wished he were anyone else. A man who knew how to tell her how badly he wanted to be that _someone_. He had fought for years to disprove the lie that he was broken or weird or the only one of his kind. But Rose made him both feel so accepted and yet wish he had the experience of his peers. Rose deserved a real Casanova to sweep her off her feet. But all he was was John, doctor of physics, nerd, and completely inexperienced in the ways of Cupid.

Rose had finished his face paint and was holding him a hand mirror so he could examine her work up close. She bit her lip in anticipation.

“What do you think?” she asked, with a note of nervousness.

“Perfect!” he declared, in awe. “Molto bene. I’ll never know how you do it. I would have just made a mess if I’d tried to do this myself, but this! Rose, thank you.”

She blushed. “Well, just be careful not to smudge it. I don’t know if I can do it again.” She laughed and turned to the mirror on the wall to do her own. He admired her as she worked. She painted a base layer of pink fading to purple, then on her right cheek added a dark indigo-blue heart on top. It matched his, but she had given him a silver and purple star instead of a heart.

The symbolism behind the difference struck his gut with force. What if she was ready to love again? She had no idea (if he had been as successful as he hoped) that he had feelings beyond friendship for her. He paled beneath the facepaint as he realized the last thing he had told her about his sexuality was that it was non-existent. But how would he correct that without sounding creepy? What if she thought he was lying the first time? What if she didn’t understand and didn’t think he “counted” as ace anymore? Would she regret going to Pride with him? There were already plenty of people in the LGBTQ+ community he knew who didn’t think he should be included as it was.

“Alright there?” She had finished her facepaint and was trying to read his reaction.

“You are… incredibly talented,” he finished, feeling like it was entirely inadequate, but unable to voice the emotion behind the lump in his throat. 

“Ta.” She brightened and gathered her supplies back into the craft store bag. “Ok if I just leave these here until after the parade?”

“Of course.” He grabbed their water bottles and nibbles and suncream while she found directions on her phone. He moved automatically while thoughts whirled in his head about what he should do about their situation. On the one hand, if she was interested him and just needed to know he was too, it was silly to keep his feelings a secret from her. But if she wasn’t interested in him (and out of all the men and women in the world, why would she chose him, anyway?), he couldn’t risk ruining their friendship. She was far too important for that.

* * *

 

They made their way to the Tube and rode to Charing Cross, excitement rising as more and more rainbows and flags and glitter and color filled the car.

Rose was quiet, though, lost in thought. She caught a twinge of sadness poking through her joy at seeing so much Pride. She pulled the metaphorical thread and tried to unravel what this feeling was. No, it wasn’t wishing her ex was here or that they could go together. And the girl had moved away, so Rose wasn’t afraid of running into her anytime soon. Oh no. Was it her old crush on her best mate? Her _asexual_ best mate? Her asexual best mate who was sitting right next to her on a Tube car headed into the city to celebrate Pride with a giant ace flag on his T-shirt? Pathetically, yes, she was ashamed to answer. She was bi, for goodness sake. She had all of the men and women in the world to choose from. Why did her heart have to belong to _him_?

But it did. He was sweet and kind and perfect and fit and everything she had ever wanted. He hadn’t been a jerk when she had mentioned her sexuality. In fact, he had completely understood. Possibly too much so, with all of his matching stories of things they had both been told by those who didn’t accept them as they were. He had been very clear that night that nothing would ever happen between them. So she hid her growing feelings long after she was sure they weren’t just of the rebound variety.

She was a bit angry with herself. He obviously didn’t want her, or anyone, like that. Surely, she could be grateful for his friendship and love him as a best mate without her stupid lust for him getting in the way? He had been so patient with all of her issues and healing. He made every day sunnier, even in London. No, he wasn’t her boyfriend and never would be. He was much more important than that.  

The doors opened at their stop, and John grinned down at her. He took her hand, and they made their way through the crowd to meet up with their friends Jack and Ianto.

“John! Rose!” Jack called in his American accent. “We’re over here!” Jack was adorned in pansexual colors, a variety of Mardi Gras-style beaded necklaces, and body glitter, yet still managed to look like he stepped out of fashion magazine. Ianto wore the official event T-shirt and carried a bi flag with another stuck to his cheek.

Someone passed by handing out feather boas and Jack whipped one around Ianto’s neck. The Welshman just accepted it and shrugged at Rose and John as if to say _you know how he gets_.

John’s worry about Rose’s silence on the train dissipated as she held tighter to his hand and laughed along with Jack and Ianto. They wandered around and chatted with others until the parade began. Cheers rang out as the first float made its way up the street. The adrenaline of the celebration was contagious and John and Rose caught it easily. A bi visibility advocacy group danced by, and John wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist. Before she could stop herself, she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. She burned in embarrassment as soon as she did it and was already chastising herself for crossing boundaries when she noticed the dreamy, glazed over look in his eyes as he stared down at her. Perhaps he didn’t mind a bit more friendly physical affection after all, she mused and stopped beating herself up about it.

Toward the end, a purple, grey, black, and white bedecked marching band played Gustav Holst’s The Planets. A banner in front declared them the Space Ace Cadets, and they were followed by twirlers with umbrellas. At a particularly jubilant climax in the music, the twirlers opened their umbrellas to reveal Rose’s surprise for John. She had been commissioned by the costume designer to paint a purple and white galaxy for their umbrellas.

“What do you think?” Rose shouted over the blaring trumpets.

“That’s yours!” John replied in shock. “The umbrellas are yours!”

“Well, my artwork. I know the costumer for this band,” she teased. “I did it as a favor, but not for her. For you.”

“For me?” The band passed, leaving their ears ringing, but allowing them to speak in somewhat normal tones.

Rose shrugged. “I support you, John. No matter what.”

His jaw worked, as if he was trying to say something that wouldn’t come out, so she continued. “I have to ask though, and I’m a bit embarrassed not to know this already, but why did they want to put them on umbrellas? Just for the visual or is there meaning behind that?”

“Behind the umbrellas?” John clarified. “Yes. Let’s… let’s go over here.” The end of the parade passed by as he pulled her out of the way of the crowd so they could hear each other. Jack and Ianto waved and shouted that they would catch up with them later. John gave them a little salute, but Rose followed, a little confused. He found an empty bench, and she sank beside him. He looked terrified, if she was honest, and yet she had a gut feeling that everything was about to change. She just had no idea how.

John took her hands in his and swallowed. When he didn’t say anything, Rose decided to prompt him gently.

“John?” she asked softly. “What do the umbrellas mean?”

“Asexuality is not quite as linear, strict black and white as you might believe… despite the colors in our flag,” he tried to joke, but his voice was shaking too much for her to laugh. “It’s more of a wibbly wobbly spectrum. There are a lot of ways to be asexual, so we refer to it as an umbrella…”

His eyes were so full of hope, it took Rose’s breath away.

“And where do you fall under this umbrella?” she managed to get out despite her heart beating wildly at the way he was leaning in now, the fringe of his really great hair falling down over his brow.

“I’m… I’m more somewhere between grey- and demisexual, meaning I don’t really experience attraction, but when I do, it’s rare and only after I’ve bonded very deeply with someone. Someone I feel completely comfortable with. Someone I spend a lot of time with…”

“Oh,” she breathed, catching on to what was happening and why he was so nervous. He was using her spoken question to answer a different one entirely that had been looming between them for far too long.

“Someone like a best mate,” he continued. “Especially when that best mate is a beautiful blonde with a sparkling sense of humor and the most clever questions and deserves to be loved far more than I know how to give her.”

“Oh,” she sighed again, this time with happy tears sparkling in her eyes. She processed all of this for a second. “So. It’s not black and white, you said. It’s more… grey.”

“Yeah.” He sat stiff, staring at the ground while waiting for her full reaction. Rose started to giggle, taking him aback.

“You can’t even tell me about your feelings for me without making a pun?” She slapped his arm, and he just gaped at her. “John, if you knew you were grey-asexual or demisexual or somewhere in between, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“There are… a lot of reasons.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Mainly, the most important being that it’s just you, Rose.”

“What is?” She took the liberty of stroking his arm in comfort.

“I haven’t really felt like this around anyone else.” He relaxed under her touch, the words falling out now after being hidden so long. “Sure, I had the occasional wonderings of what it would be like and dated because everyone else was, but I never really understood the appeal.”

“Until now?” Rose felt the swell of hope consume her, but she had to be sure.

“Yeah,” he exhaled with the air of a man putting his entire heart on the line. “Rose, I completely understand if you don’t—”

“What if I do?” she interrupted.

“You? But? You do? _Me_?” He furrowed his brow.

“Mmmhm.” She nodded and sat up straight, making it official. “John, I like you. As more than a friend. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you didn’t feel the same and your friendship is far more important to me than causing any sort of awkwardness between us. But if you want… that… you should know that so do I.”

He grinned and leaned down until their noses were almost touching. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

She laughed and lightly cupped the side of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips for a quick peck.

“Is this alright?” she murmured.

He answered with a sloppy but passionate kiss.

“About time!” Jack called, startling them into breaking apart. Jack clapped John on the shoulder.

“Time? What do you mean?” John sputtered.

“John, you’re the most lovesick ace I know. Rose, if anyone deserves this geek chic, it’s you, sweetheart. Which is fortunate because you’re the only one he wants.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Rose blushed and shook her head. John looked down at their clasped hands and entwined their fingers.

“Ooo, it’s hand-holding official now,” Ianto chimed in. He and Jack exchanged knowing glances. “We just came by to say we’re headed to a party, if you want to join?”

Rose let go of John’s hand, and he glanced down at her in surprised disappointment. Instead, she wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked herself into his side, causing him to relax against her in relief, which amused her.

“I was actually thinking John and I still have a lot to talk about, so we might get a bite to eat first,” she said to Jack and Ianto before turning to John, “if that’s alright with you?”

“I know the perfect spot,” John answered.

“We’ll catch you cats later.” Jack winked at Rose and saluted John. He and Ianto headed out into the crowd, holding hands in a perfect picture of Pride.

* * *

 

Rose sipped her drink and tried to avoid the eyes of the staring kid a table over.

“What is on your face?” the boy finally asked. He looked to be around six or seven. His parents were involved in caring for his baby sister and hardly noticed he was talking to a stranger.

“It’s face paint,” Rose answered with a smile. “Have you ever had your face painted?”

The boy stuck a finger in his mouth and shook his head. “I wanted to at a funfair once but Mummy said no. Did you come from a funfair?”

“Not exactly.” Rose hedged, unsure of how much to say without the kid’s parents getting involved. Her fears were relieved, however, when the boy’s father smiled knowingly.

“We were supposed to make it to the parade too,” the dad explained. “A bit too late getting out of the house. My brother was on the giant rainbow float today. He was manning the bubble machine on the cloud.”

“Oh! We saw him then!” John nodded.

By now the boy’s mum had taken notice. “What do those mean?” She pointed to her cheek.

Her question was pure curiosity and seemed to hold no malice, but Rose still stiffened and hesitated. John saw her reaction and stepped in, stroking the back of her hand on the table.

“Rose’s colors mean she likes both boys and girls. Mine mean that I don’t usually like anyone like that, though sometimes, very rarely, I do find someone. Only when that someone is very, very special.” He said the last part to Rose, making her stomach flutter. He turned back to the kid. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he affirmed with a nod. “Do you like chocolate though?”

 “Oh yes,” John answered, matching his seriousness. “We both love chocolate.”

“That’s all that matters then,” the boy said with a nod of decision.

The adults laughed, but eventually his parents chided him to eat his food and leave the nice couple alone. John and Rose turned back to their conversation, with what turned out to be the perfect segue.

“Rose, I need to make sure you understand, I’m still ace. I’m attracted to you, and I do want, well, eventually will want, all of the things couples usually do…”

“The sex,” Rose whispered with a wink with a hand covering her mouth from the kid’s view.

John chuckled, appreciating anew her ability to diffuse his anxiety. “Yes. Not yet. But yes. But I’m still me, you know, so I may need some help sometimes with this boyfriend stuff. That is, if you want to be, we didn’t really specify, that is, Rose? Wouldyouliketobemygirlfriend?”

Rose picked up on his meaning, despite the rushed question. But she still had a tiny doubt she needed to equally clarify. “And you understand that, even if I am your girlfriend, I’ll still be bi? Dating a man doesn’t make me any less bisexual, John. Are you ok with that?”

“I know. And to be completely honest, it’s still a bit of a mystery to me why out of everyone, you’d choose me, but don’t you for a minute think I’d listen to any of those things people have said about you. Or that I agree with them!”

“You trust me then? It’s just that, my ex, she said no man would ever trust me if I told them…” She could hardly speak for the lump in her throat, confessing her darkest fears in public to her love.

“Yes, Rose, oh yes. I trust you more than anyone. That’s a bit of a prerequisite for me, to feel this way about someone. Which leads me back to my question…”

“Yes,” she answered, finally letting her happiness blossom on her lips. “I’ll be your girlfriend. And I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“That’s settled then.” John grinned and sat back in his chair. “Now, on the subject of chocolate…”

* * *

 

John turned out not to be as bad of a boyfriend as he feared. Rose helped him learn the cultural relationship rituals she enjoyed and learn which ones he enjoyed, and they gleefully ignored the ones they didn’t. Anytime someone said something mean to them, they remembered those moments at Pride, feeling so completely at home with each other and fully accepted by each other and their city.

The next year, Jack helped them land an interview with a well-known LGBTQIA+ website, and they spoke out for cross-orientation relationships, and how bi and ace/aro identities should stick together through all of the discourse and trolls that tried to shame them. Their little interview aired from a side stage, and they observed several people in the crowd nodding along and recommitting to be an inclusive community.  

John kissed Rose on the head from where they watched from the sidelines, and she tugged him down for a proper kiss. Let people say what they would. They had each other, and against whatever came against them, they would love as if it was painted plain on their faces: They were proud, and they were in love.


End file.
